Light the Dark Corners
by Brumeier
Summary: After surviving a traumatic experience, will Jim be able to save Blair from himself? Slash, established relationship. Set sometime after Sentinel Too.


**Standard Disclaimer: **Don't own the characters, and that probably makes them very happy when I write stuff like this. LOL!

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><p><strong>Light the Dark Corners<strong>

Forty-three hours. That's how long Ellison and Sandburg had been missing, right in the middle of a big investigation. Major Crimes had been working overtime on a serial killer case, which had also drawn the interest of the FBI. Simon's best team had gone home for a couple of hours of down time and never returned.

A taunting note found at the loft indicated that somehow the hunters had become the hunted; the as-yet-unidentified killer had taken Simon's detective and consultant. It was only luck that forensics had been able to find the single fingerprint that the unsub – as the FBI called him – had left behind. Everyone at Cascade PD went into overdrive, now that two of their own had been targeted. For once, the Feds were a help instead of a hindrance, and through their combined efforts the two missing men were finally located in an old barn sixteen miles outside of town.

Simon would never forget the sight that greeted him when they burst through a side door into the barn. There was a body crumpled by the ladder to the hay mow, bludgeoned so badly as to be virtually unrecognizable; presumably Granger, though there would need to be an official identification made. Seven feet away, Jim lay on the cold concrete floor, his head surrounded by a crimson halo from a gunshot wound. Draped across him like a blanket was Sandburg, clothed in a gory suit of blood and brain tissue.

The overpowering smell of blood and bodily fluids drove at least one of the officers out of the barn to be sick, and even the Feds looked a bit green, but Simon choked it all down. His men needed him to lead; everything else would have to wait. But when someone called out that both men were still alive, though Ellison only just, Simon closed his eyes and sent a heartfelt thank you to whatever force watched over his friends. Then he called for the EMTs who'd been waiting outside. It was time to get Ellison and Sandburg out of there.

*o*o*o*

_The panther prowled restlessly, snarling and snapping at every noise. He stumbled occasionally, which only made him angrier. He was looking for the wolf, but couldn't catch his scent. He moved through the jungle on a drunken path, sniffing and calling, feline screams echoing through the trees. And still the wolf did not answer._

*o*o*o*

The first thing Jim was aware of was an absence. Something was missing, something important, but he wasn't sure what it was. And then there was pain. His whole head was so full of it that he couldn't help the agonized groan that rippled along his dry, scratchy throat.

Someone took his hand, spoke to him in gentle tones. He couldn't quite make out the words, but there was only one person who'd be with him when he felt this bad.

"Blair," he murmured, before drifting away again.

Jim was a bit more lucid the second time he woke, enough to know that the person sitting beside his bed wasn't Blair. The heartbeat, the smell – they were all wrong. Something had happened, but what? He tried to remember, tried to open his eyes, but the effort brought the pain back until he was writhing with it. More voices now, agitated voices, and then it all bled away to darkness.

*o*o*o*

_"Man, I could sleep standing up at this point," Blair said as they came through the door._

_ "You're not kidding." Jim tossed his keys into the basket and scrubbed at his face. "I'm gonna make a sandwich. You want one?"_

_ "Sure. Mind if I grab a quick shower first?"_

_ "No problem." Jim gave him a quick peck on the lips before dragging himself into the kitchen. He kept one ear on his lover as he went up the stairs to the bedroom. Too late he realized that his white noise generator had been switched on, masking the sound of another person in the loft._

_ "Blair!" he shouted. The only response he received was the snap and pop of a taser. He was already halfway up the stairs, gun drawn, when he heard the thud of Blair's body hitting the floor._

_ "Freeze!" Jim barked out when he cleared the top step. An unknown man was crouched down beside Blair, whose muscles were twitching and spasming. A quick Sentinel scan told him that the younger man was out cold, with no apparent damage from the electric shock._

_ "I'll take your weapon, Detective." The man smiled pleasantly at him, and moved just slightly. It was enough for Jim to see that he had a pistol pressed tightly to the underside of Blair's jaw. Shit. Shit! He tightened his hand on his own weapon, unwilling to relinquish it._

_ "Your choice, of course. Brains are so difficult to get out of carpet, though, don't you agree?"_

_ Jim's jaw clenched, but he couldn't see any way out of it. The intruder's finger was firmly pressed on the trigger and he couldn't risk Blair having the top of his head blown off. He popped the clip out of his gun and tossed both pieces on the bed._

_ "Wise decision, Detective." The man grinned. "I've never had two before. Oh, we're going to have some fun now!"_

_ Before Jim could react, the man lifted his other hand and shot him with a second taser. He was unconscious before he hit the floor._

*o*o*o*

When Jim was finally able to open his eyes without the pain overwhelming him, he saw that it was his father in the chair beside the bed. That caused a different kind of pain, this one in his chest.

"He shot me," he said, voice scratchy.

"Jimmy? Oh, thank God!" Bill Ellison leaned over the bed, touching Jim's face. "It's a miracle!"

"He shot me," Jim repeated dully.

Bill sank back in the chair, looking exhausted. "He did. But you're going to be fine, son."

"Blair's dead. Isn't he." It was a statement, not a question. He'd stretched out his hearing, hunting for that treasured heartbeat, but it wasn't there. There was only one reason he wouldn't be there. Jim could feel his own heart growing numb.

"No, Jimmy. Blair's not dead."

He looked over at his father. "Then where is he?"

"Let me get the doctor."

"WHERE IS HE?" Jim shouted. It was too much for his throat and he started coughing violently. A nurse was instantly at his side, sitting him up and slipping ice chips between his lips until the spasms lessened.

"You need to calm down, Detective Ellison. Before you hurt yourself."

Jim nodded, not trusting himself to speak until the coughing had completely abated. By that time Simon was looming in the doorway, his face somber.

"Blair?" Jim whispered.

Simon and Bill exchanged a look, and the Captain gave a slight nod. Jim turned to his father, an expectant look on his face.

"He's getting the best possible treatment, Jimmy. I took care of everything."

The numbness spread. Blair was alive, but something was obviously very wrong with him. Jim closed his eyes. He remembered being in the barn. Granger, or so the psycho called himself, had injected Jim with something, some kind of drug cocktail. Blair had gone crazy, had attacked the madman only to be pistol whipped. It wouldn't be the last time, either, though a lot of what happened was foggy and distant thanks to the continuous injections. He hadn't protected his lover. The Sentinel had failed the Guide.

"He hit Blair. I couldn't stop him."

"Jim, this isn't the time," Simon said softly.

"What did he do while I was out of it?" Jim looked up at Simon, pleading. "What happened that I don't remember?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any details for you. Jeffrey Granger is dead, he can't tell us anything."

Granger was dead? "You shoot him?"

"Jim…"

"Who killed him, Simon?" But he was afraid he already knew.

"He was…beaten to death with his own gun." Simon's voice was weary and full of regret. "He was dead when we got to the scene."

Jim closed his eyes, grief drowning him. Blair had killed a man. Violently. That would hurt him more than anything Granger could have done to him. And he was going through it alone.

"Where is he?" He had to force the words past the lump in his throat.

"He's in a private facility in Ellensburg," Bill said. "It's a…uh…psychiatric hospital."

"Psychiatric hospital," Jim repeated, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.

"He's had a mental break, Jim," Simon said. "No-one can reach him."

"I can."

*o*o*o*

_The panther searched on, steps surer now. He scented the air, the ground. And finally picked up a trail so faint he nearly missed it. Once more on the hunt, he ran through the jungle following the scent of the wolf. And came up short when the trail ended at a wall of solid stone._

_ The panther followed the stone, tracked the scent of the wolf around four corners and saw that the stone made a box. It didn't belong here, in the middle of the jungle. It didn't smell right. Each wall seemed to stretch endlessly towards the sky. But he could sense the wolf inside, though his calls went unanswered. He paced back and forth, trying to find a weakness in the stone. Trying to find a way to the wolf._

*o*o*o*

Jim's was on edge, his senses spiking. His need to see Blair was overwhelming, though he did his best to keep all the big feelings tucked away, pushed aside to be dealt with later. Simon understood how he felt, knew that he and Blair were in a relationship. Jim's father tried, he had to admit that, but Bill Ellison liked to discuss his son's sexual orientation about as much as he enjoyed chatting about him being a Sentinel.

His friends from the PD tried to stop by and visit him in the hospital, but Jim had sent them away with a snarl. He wasn't in the mood for visitors, for questions and sympathy. None of them had gone to see Blair; Bill had left instructions that he was to have no visitors besides family and Simon Banks, to protect his privacy. They were still trying to locate Naomi, who was supposedly staying in an ashram somewhere in India. Simon was the only person that Jim would let into his room, aside from his father, and that was because his boss refused to be intimidated by him. And honestly, he had bigger problems.

Granger had shot him in the head. He should be dead. Everyone said it was a miracle, not only that he was still alive but that he'd suffered no brain damage. The doctors couldn't explain it. Jim had his suspicions, and he was certain Simon did as well; he'd been there that day at the fountain, he'd seen Blair miraculously brought back to life. There'd been no brain damage then, either.

The doctors had examined his head in every possible way from every possible angle – MRI, CT scan, x-ray, neurological testing. Without Blair there to warn the doctors about his sensitivities these tests were an agony. He could've told them himself, he knew, but he felt he deserved whatever pain came his way; it couldn't be any worse than whatever Blair was going through. So he suffered through the agonizing noise and pressure of the MRI, and the allergic reaction he had to the contrast agent for the CT scan, which left him covered in hives.

There were worst things than tests, though. Like needles. They were everywhere, and the first time someone came near him with one he flipped out. It had just been a simple blood draw, nothing he hadn't been through before in the past, but as soon as he caught sight of the syringe his fight or flight instincts rose up and he was out of bed in a flash. The IV pole fell over with a crash and pulled the port out of his hand, but he barely registered that. All that mattered was keeping the bed between himself and the increasingly alarmed nurse, and his vision narrowed down to a single point so that all he could see was the syringe. If Simon hadn't shown up just then, he had no idea what he would've done.

"Jim? What's going on?"

"I'm just trying to draw some blood," the nurse explained. "Is Detective Ellison afraid of needles?"

Jim had been unable to say anything, his focus was so intent. Almost a zone, but the panic racing through him wouldn't let him escape that way. He'd only been peripherally aware of his boss turning on the unfortunate nurse, disbelief and fury etched on his face.

"Haven't you read his damn chart? He was tortured by a psycho with a chemistry degree. With needles. Where's the damn doctor?"

The nurse had stammered and fled, presumably in search of Dr. Ross. But still Jim found he couldn't move, his whole body trembling.

"Jim? You with me here? Ellison!"

Simon used his bullpen voice, and that snapped Jim back to reality. He shook his head to clear it, then leaned forward on the bed, resting heavily on his arms.

"Shit," he said softly. As if being shot in the head wasn't enough, Granger had given him some kind of needle phobia too. No doubt Blair would be able to label it and have a whole list of ideas for helping him deal with it. His chest ached and he rubbed it absently with one hand as he eased himself down to sit on the bed. God, he missed him.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up," Simon said, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. "What you've been through…you're doing pretty good, considering."

"Yeah. I know." Jim lay back and waited for Dr. Ross. "Thanks, Simon."

He'd been right, too. Dr. Ross told him he was suffering from trypanophobia, and talked with him about some strategies for working around the problem, including relaxation and distraction. Jim tried to channel Blair as he worked on the relaxation techniques his Guide had been trying to teach him for years now.

The next time the nurse came to draw blood, she kept the syringe covered until Jim could close his eyes and do some deep breathing. With a topical anesthetic applied to the area, he managed to get through it; so what if the little bit of anesthetic she used nearly numbed his whole arm? He did what he had to do, his eye always on the prize – getting out of the hospital and being with Blair.

Dr. Ross was reluctant to discharge him, but after a week there was no good reason to keep him there. No setbacks, no complications. Countless tests that all came back normal. Jim promised he'd call if he had any worrisome symptoms, and was relieved when his father finally took him home.

*o*o*o*

All told, he'd been in the hospital for twelve days, five of them unconscious. In that time the loft had gotten a stale, empty feel that he didn't like at all. While Bill fixed him some soup, he opened windows and the balcony doors to air the place out. And then found himself standing at the foot of the stairs, staring up at the bedroom but seemingly unable to go there.

"Jimmy? You okay?" Bill put a hand on his shoulder and he sagged beneath the weight of it.

"Fine." Which was clearly a lie.

Jim remembered coming home. They'd both been exhausted, not that it was an excuse. He should've known someone was in the loft. He should've been the first one up the stairs.

"He was here. In our house." Jim clutched at the stair rail. "If I'd gone up first…maybe…"

"Don't do this to yourself, son."

"Do what? Feel guilty? I should've known, should've sensed…something."

"Jimmy…"

"Not now, Dad."

Jim shook off his father's hand and forced himself up the stairs. In his mind's eye he could see Blair on the floor, twitching from the after effects of the taser. He sat on the bed and ran his hands over his head, being careful of the bandage above his ear. He'd made a lot of mistakes over the years, particularly with Blair, but this was the worst. His Guide had amazing bounce-back qualities, but this time he may be have been pushed too far.

He lay back on the bed and dragged Blair's pillow to his chest, breathing in what traces of him lingered there. He tried to push down the feelings that made his eyes burn and his breathing hitch, but it had been easier at the hospital when he wasn't surrounded by Blair's scent and memories of moments shared together between these sheets.

Transitioning from friends to lovers had been a slow process. The feelings had been there, almost right from the start, but it wasn't until that day at the fountain that he'd decided to stop denying himself what he wanted so badly. It had been almost comical to find out that Blair had been feeling the same way, each thinking the other couldn't possibly be interested, particularly after the events in Sierra Verde. And then he'd insisted on a proper courtship period, which Jim had at first found laughable but then quickly got on board with. It had been important, that period of getting to know each other in a new, more intimate way.

"We've waited this long," Blair had said. "We can wait a little longer."

Jim could recall with detailed clarity the first night they'd made love. The first touch of skin to skin had almost been enough to push him over the edge; there was a downside to too much anticipation. That first time had been slow and incredibly sweet, and he had a moment to despair of ever having that with Blair again.

What else had Granger taken from them?

*o*o*o*

_Blair's arms were tied behind his back, his wrists red and raw, and there were bruises around his throat. Jim leaned against him, weak and jittery from the last injection Granger had given him. He knew his lover sported more bruises, had spotty memories of him being beaten, and was swamped with guilt. He couldn't protect him, couldn't even protect himself._

_ "It's okay, big guy," Blair said in response to Jim's pained murmurings, his voice raspy from being nearly strangled to death. "We'll get out of this. I won't let him hurt you, Jim. I won't let him hurt you anymore."_

_ He pressed a kiss on Jim's forehead, no doubt wishing his hands were free so he could comfort him properly. Jim put one arm around Blair's waist, snuggling closer._

_ "Maybe…maybe you should zone."_

_ Jim rolled his head back, not liking the expression he saw on his lover's face. "What?"_

_ "If you go deep enough, he wouldn't…he couldn't hurt you."_

_ His mind may have been fuzzy around the edges, but he knew what Blair meant. Anger pushed the haze back a bit and he sat up._

_ "Why the hell do you think I'd do that to you?"_

_ Blair ducked his head, but no fast enough to hide the tears in his eyes or the exhaustion on his face. Jim tried to pull him into his lap, but he wasn't strong enough; he had to settle for wrapping his arms around Blair, as tightly as he could._

_ "You and me, Chief. We'll get through this together. Just like always."_

*o*o*o*

Jim hadn't wanted to see anyone his first night home, but it seemed there was no getting rid of Simon. His boss had shown up at the door just after dinner, bringing donuts. They made some small talk with Bill, and then he left with a promise to pick Jim up in the morning and drive him to Ellensburg.

"You want a beer, Simon?"

"No thanks. Wouldn't mind some coffee, though."

Jim set about prepping the coffee maker, finding a bit of comfort in the familiar routine. He was getting a headache, his ears unconsciously tuning in to try and find Blair, but he didn't say anything; the last thing he needed was Simon getting worried about his health and keeping him from getting to Blair.

"Must be pretty slow at work, you having all this free time to visit me." Jim leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to drip.

"It's a perk of being the boss," Simon replied. "Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you."

"I'm a big boy, Simon."

"So you keep telling me."

A not-quite-uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, until the coffee was finished and they were sitting at the table with steaming mugs in their hands. Jim was tired, despite having napped earlier in the day, and he wished Simon would leave so he could take some Tylenol and go to bed. And he felt ungrateful about thinking that way, considering how much time his boss had spent with him in the hospital.

"I saw Sandburg today."

"What?" Jim whipped his head up and looked at Simon searchingly. "How is he? Did you talk to him?"

"No, I didn't talk to him. He's not exactly what you'd call lucid, Jim." Simon took off his glasses and produced a cleaning cloth from his pocket. "He was in an isolation room when I got there. He'd attacked one of the male nurses."

Jim looked away, jaw clenched. He'd hoped that maybe with a little time, Blair would start to get better. He was deluding himself.

"Did you see him?"

"Yeah, I did. He's a little on the thin side, but physically he seems okay." Simon slipped his glasses back on. "He was talking to himself, nothing that made much sense. Of course, he never makes much sense to me."

Jim tried to work up a smile for that little joke, but he couldn't do it. The mental picture he was forming of Blair wasn't good. He'd attacked someone? He wanted to be there, wanted to help him. Not that he had an inkling of how to do it.

"You nervous about seeing him?" Simon asked. His tone was off-hand, but the look he was giving Jim was shrewd.

"Yeah. I guess I am." Jim put his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do here, Simon. This is Blair's thing, what he's good at. I don't want to screw it up."

"You won't screw it up," Simon assured him, his voice soft. "You love him, don't you?"

"You know I do."

"Then just go with that. You brought him back from the dead, for Christ's sake. You can bring him back from this."

Jim looked at him, and this time he had no trouble calling up a smile. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that Simon?"

"Perks of the job," was the cheerful reply.

*o*o*o*

The trip to Ellensburg took nearly two hours. Bill insisted on driving, worried that Jim's head wound would choose an inopportune moment to cause a blackout or something. Jim didn't much care, as long as he got there. He just wished his father would stop trying to chat him up and let him brood.

"I don't know what you think this is going to accomplish," Bill said. "You didn't see him, Jimmy."

"No-one has, thanks to you," Jim muttered. "Jesus, don't you think he could've used some support?"

"He didn't know anyone, didn't even know where he was. He's sick, son. He's not as strong as you."

Jim couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he was more than happy to finally have a place to direct the anger and frustration and fear he'd been feeling since he woke up in the hospital.

"You don't know the first thing about Blair," he snapped. "He's the strongest person I know. He did his best to keep me alive in that fucking barn, for all the good it did either of us."

"I didn't mean…"

"I'd be the one in the psych ward if it wasn't for Blair. If he hadn't helped me with my senses – something _you_ never bothered to do – I don't know what would've happened to me. He stuck with me through everything. He's been kidnapped, shot, drowned…and you tell me he's not strong?" Jim's hands clenched into fists and he desperately wished he had something to pound. "He killed someone. Do you have any idea what that cost him? And it's my fault, because he did it for me."

Bill's jaw was tightly clenched, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I don't pretend to understand this…thing, between you and Blair. And I'm grateful for everything he's done to help you, but maybe it's best to cut your losses, Jimmy. There's nothing you can do for him."

"Stop the car."

"Jimmy…"

"Stop the fucking car!"

Bill swerved over to the shoulder, and Jim was out before he could even put it in park. He and his father had never been close, had in fact gone for years without any contact at all. That he would now presume to tell him what to do, especially regarding Blair, was overstepping a line that still wasn't clearly delineated between them.

"Get back in the car," his father said tersely, glaring at him across the roof.

"You know, the only reason I let you back in my life was because Blair pushed me. He thought it was important, that it would be _good_ for me. But he doesn't know you, not the way I do. And I can see now it was a mistake."

"Don't say that." Bill looked honestly distressed now. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. I really am. I know I always say the wrong things; seems like I can't do anything right with you. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Then stop talking about Blair like he's a piece of broken furniture that I can just replace. I _love_ him, Dad." Jim rested his head on the roof of the car. "I love him. And I'm not going to give up on him just because it might be hard."

Bill looked about to say something else when an eighteen-wheeler passed them, and pulled on the air horn. Jim clapped his hands to his ears, grimacing at the pain that unexpected noise caused him. His father was instantly at his side, bundling him back into the car.

"Jimmy? You okay?"

He winced and nodded, but kept his hands over his ears while his father got back behind the wheel and merged back into traffic. He did some deep breathing and fiddled a bit with the mental dials that helped him control his senses, and his pain. Once everything was modulated, he dropped his hands into his lap.

"Okay?" Bill asked.

Jim nodded wearily. "Yeah."

"Look, son…"

"It's fine, Dad," Jim said with a wave of his hand. "I can't do this now, okay?"

"Sure. Okay."

They drove the rest of the way to Ellensburg in strained silence.

*o*o*o*

The grounds of St. Matthews were more suited to a country club than a psychiatric hospital – groomed lawns, tidy flower beds, topiaries shaped like animals, even a decorative fountain with little stone cherubs. Jim barely registered it; he cocked his head, listening, and his breath caught when he finally heard Blair's heartbeat.

Jim wanted out of the car; he was so close now, so close. But Bill put a hand on his arm, forestalling him.

"I'll get you set up at a hotel in town. Call me when you're ready to go."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to. Jimmy, I…good luck."

A curt nod was all he got in response. Jim got out of the car and hurried through the ornate double doors, stalking anxiously toward the reception desk. Now that he could hear Blair he wanted to see him, touch him.

"May I help you?" The woman at the desk looked like she could be someone's grandmother, with tight white curls framing a plump, amiable face. The glasses perched on the end of her nose for some reason made Jim think of Mrs. Claus.

"Jim Ellison. I'm here to see Blair Sandburg."

The receptionist typed the information into her computer, then smiled up at him.

"Mr. Sandburg is on the third floor, E Wing. They'll be expecting you."

Jim signed in and slipped a lanyard over his head that was attached to a visitor's pass. He took the elevator to the third floor and followed the signs to E Wing. Once there he was greeted by a mountain of a man wearing black scrubs and sporting several tattoos on his forearms. Not what he expected a nurse to look like, but then he'd long ago learned not to judge a book by its cover.

"Mr. Ellison? I'm John Josephson, RN Supervisor. You're here to visit Blair?"

"Yes. And it's just Jim."

They shook hands, and John led the way down the hall.

"Blair hasn't had many visitors. You're aware of his condition?"

"Just the basics."

"Physically, he's in good health. He's off suicide watch now, and settling in as well as we can expect."

Jim stopped walking. "Suicide watch?" he asked, sick. Why the hell hadn't Simon told him about that?

"The trauma Blair went through was significant," John explained. "You have to remember he's not in his right mind. He got hold of a plastic knife from a meal tray. He wasn't able to do any lasting damage, but had to be monitored very carefully after that."

Jim swallowed down the bile that was rising in his throat. "What else?"

"His responses to external stimuli have been decreasing. He's getting lost in his own head, prone to periods of anger and disorientation. I'm sorry to say that if this continues, his chance of recovery will be minimal."

"We'll see about that," Jim said, his jaw painfully clenched. He and John resumed walking, Blair's heartbeat swelling in Jim's ears until they stood outside his door.

Room 307. Jim bit back a strangled laugh.

It was a small, narrow room, painted white and that sickly shade of green favored by medical institutions. There was a bed that sported arm and leg restraints at either end, an arm chair upholstered in dark orange vinyl, and a dresser with three drawers. Off to one side was a bathroom the size of a small closet.

And pressed into the far corner of the room, wearing gray institutional pajamas, was Blair.

"If you need anything, the call button is by the bed." John closed the door behind him, but Jim barely heard him go.

_They cut his hair_. That was his first coherent thought, and it was enough to break down the cocoon of numbness he'd been trying to hide inside. He approached Blair on shaky legs, taking everything in. The short curls framed a thin, pale face. He had his legs drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them. His eyes were closed, his mouth moving in silent words that not even a Sentinel could hear. But it was the unnatural stillness of the man that drove Jim to his knees.

"Blair?" He reached out a tentative hand, touching him on the arm. There was no reaction.

"Oh, Jesus, babe…"

Jim broke down then, everything he'd been keeping inside bursting free with choked sobs. He'd let this happen. He had let the evil of the world finally touch Blair in an irreversible way. He hugged himself, overwhelmed by his own guilt. What good were his senses if they couldn't protect the person he loved most in the world?

His brilliant, beautiful Blair had been taken from him. He's saved Jim's life at the expense of his own. It was unforgiveable. Jim didn't know how long he knelt there, grieving, but his knees were aching by the time he got himself back under control.

He was startled to see that Blair's eyes were open, that amazing shade of deep blue always somehow catching him by surprise. There was no recognition in them, no condemnation. Just pain.

"What did you do, Chief?" he asked, throat thick with sorrow. He wiped his arm across his face.

"Is it a crime? Not in Papua. Headhunters." Blair's voice was hushed; it took Jim a minute to realize he was talking to himself. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. But then where was he? I was forced to be the _go'el haddam*_. Good little Jewish boy."

The rambling speech was disconcerting at best, and Jim was glad when it stopped. Even when Blair was suffering, he could still talk over his Sentinel's head. Some things never changed.

Jim took Blair's hand in his; it came easily enough. The claddagh ring he had given him was gone; he made a mental note to ask John about it. He could see the still-fresh scar that ran in a jagged line halfway up Blair's forearm, and the scabs from where he'd been bound by Granger and rubbed his wrists raw trying to get loose. Jim's eyes blurred again with tears, but he kept these from falling.

"What happened, babe? Where are you?"

_* blood-avenger, ancient Hebrew term_

*o*o*o*

Bill had gotten him a room at the local Hampton Inn and a rental car; he himself headed back to Cascade as soon as he picked his son up from his visit with Blair. Jim was glad to be by himself, not needing to have another confrontation with his father right now. He wasn't usually prone to emotional outbursts, and he was incredibly embarrassed by how he'd broken down in front of Blair, but he had to admit that he felt a little better. Husked out. And maybe ready for the battle ahead of him.

Jim had meant what he'd said to his father – there was nothing that would make him stop loving Blair. Even if his mental state kept deteriorating, he'd be there at his side. No matter how painful it would be for him.

_Positive thoughts, man_, he could almost hear Blair say, and he smiled.

He'd call Blair back from wherever he'd hidden himself, though he had no idea how to do it. Maybe he should treat it like a zone out; when he had one of those Blair would stimulate his senses. But Jim thought he needed to also find a way to stimulate his mind. He spent the rest of the night plotting a strategy.

The following morning he had a quick room service breakfast, then took the rental car to St. Matthews. Despite everything he desperately wanted to see Blair again; the man had become the grounding force in his life and he felt so unsteady now on his own.

When he got to Blair's room, one look was enough to make him see red. His lover was strapped down to the bed, which he clearly didn't like; he was moaning deep in his throat, his heart was racing, and he kept twisting to get away from what was holding him in place. The little nurse's aide visibly paled when she looked up and saw Jim glowering in the doorway.

"Get those off of him. Now!"

"Sir, you shouldn't be in here. If you'll go back to the nurse's station…"

Jim gave her points for standing her ground, but he wasn't backing down either. He pushed past her and started unbuckling the restraints himself.

"It's okay, Blair," he murmured. "I'm taking them off."

Jim noted with some amusement that the aide pressed the call button – repeatedly. Backup soon arrived in the form of John, the big RN.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, stepping into the room.

"He burst right in here, John!" the aide said. "He's manhandling my resident!"

"I'll take it from here, Sharry. Finish your rounds."

Thus dismissed, the aide hurried on her way. Jim took the last restraint off and Blair was up like a shot, wedging himself tightly into the corner of the room and muttering darkly under his breath.

"The restraints are for his safety, Jim." John leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. "If he gets too agitated, he could hurt himself."

Jim backed down a little. "He doesn't like that. He's had some…bad experiences."

"I understand that, but you need to understand that this is the only way we can work with him right now. We're not hurting him."

Jim looked over at Blair, who'd assumed the same position he'd been in yesterday, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You can come to me any time you have questions, Jim. Remember that." With a nod, John headed down the hall.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "Messed that one up didn't I?"

There was no reply from Blair, but then he hadn't expected one.

"Okay, babe. I have this idea to try. You could probably come up with something better, so feel free to speak up." Jim approached him carefully, as he would a spooked horse. "I'm gonna sit behind you, okay?"

That was easier said than done. When Jim tried to move him forward, Blair threw himself backwards with a little cry. It seemed the protection that the wall offered was a key factor here. Jim had to finally sit on the floor and just sort of slowly squeeze behind him bit by bit, until Blair was sitting between his legs.

He took a moment to scent around his lover's neck, dismayed at how unfamiliar he smelled. Institutional soaps and shampoo masked the light, musky scent that was Blair au naturel. He ran his hand through the short curls, saddened at the loss of all that hair.

"It'll grow back," he said, mostly for his own benefit.

With gentle pressure, Jim began to massage his lover's shoulders. Sensory stimulation. He was tense as a bowstring, and Jim hoped this would help loosen him up.

"His hands were strong," Blair muttered. Jim paused for a moment, not sure how to respond. Whose hands? Jim's? Grangers? He waited, but the younger man didn't expound, and so he got back on task.

"Do you remember when we first met? You wouldn't take no for an answer, even when I threw you up against the wall." Jim leaned his head back. "You saved my life that day, and not just from the garbage truck. It's because of you that I can still be a cop, although I'd give it all up for you, babe, if it would keep you safe."

He ran his thumbs up and down the back of Blair's neck. "Somehow I think you'd still find trouble. You jump in where angels fear to tread. I know I yell at you about that a lot, but if you didn't care about other people so much you wouldn't be the man I love."

Blair was becoming more pliant under his hands, and had stretched his own legs out.

"I think I started loving you during the Lash case. You worked that one so hard, and came up with the brilliant theory that cracked it wide open for us." Jim could see him bursting into Simon's office, too excited to knock. "When Lash had you, you didn't back down, and you never gave up. Why are you giving up now? After everything we've been through, why now?"

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and held him tightly, cheek resting on his curly head.

"Can't be me," Blair mumbled. "Can't be me. Can't be me."

Jim gave a watery laugh. His words were getting through; Blair had said the same thing to Lash. "That's right, babe. There's only one Blair Sandburg."

"Can't be. Can't be. Can't be dead. Not dead. Not dead." He started pulling forward, trying to get out of Jim's embrace. "Not dead! Not dead!"

"It's okay, Blair. It's okay. Shhh, shhh. Everything's okay."

"Please not dead," he moaned, slumping forward. Jim just kept holding him, murmuring to him, until finally Blair calmed. Again, he wasn't sure who the focus of that was – Granger or himself? Even with everything that psycho had done to them, he knew Blair would be horrified about having killed him.

"Let me help you, Chief," he said softly. "We're in this together, remember?"

"Not dead," was the only reply.

*o*o*o*

_The panther lay next to the stone box, panting and exhausted. His paws were swollen, the pads torn. The stones beside him were smeared with his blood. But still he couldn't get in, couldn't get over, couldn't get to the wolf. And now he heard a soft sound coming from inside that stone prison – a whimper._

_ After a brief rest he got wearily to his paws and, ignoring the pain, began to dig at the base of the stone box. If he couldn't get through, he'd try to go under. He wasn't giving up._

*o*o*o*

The next time Jim came to St. Matthews he had swollen knuckles from punching the wall in his hotel room in a fit of rage, and a plastic shopping bag full of toiletries. After getting permission from John and signing off on a liability waiver, he was cleared to take Blair down the hall to use the large shower, assuming he could get him there. Apparently it normally took two of the male aides to get him up and out of the corner.

Jim was nothing if not resourceful. Using the same technique he had the previous day, he slid in behind Blair until the younger man was once more braced against him. Keeping one arm wrapped around Blair's chest, he used the wall to help them both get into an upright position.

Blair started shaking his head back and forth, clearly not approving of this new development, and Jim murmured softly in his ear. The younger man tried to drop back to the floor, frowning and mumbling when that didn't work.

"No," Jim said firmly. "We're going to get you washed up, Chief."

Ignoring the curious looks and wide eyes from the staff, he walked Blair down the hall by staying pressed up behind him, offering him the same comfort that the wall normally did. It made the going slow and awkward, but at least they were moving. Once they reached the shower room, having been assured of privacy, Jim began the laborious process of undressing both himself and Blair, all the while keeping a firm grip on the other man.

Most of Blair's bruises were fading, but Jim's keen eye could still see them all as if they were freshly risen. It was a wonder he'd had no broken bones. Then again, Granger had been adept at hurting without damaging. Jim pressed a kiss between Blair's shoulder blades. He was agitated, twisting and pulling against Jim's arm. His mouth was moving again, though no sound came out.

Jim used one hand to start up the shower and get the temperature just right, and then he backed them both into it. Blair gave a start of surprise when the water hit him and tried with renewed fervor to pull away.

"No, no, no, no."

The panic in his voice cut at Jim, who wondered at the cause. Flashback? Change in his routine? "It's okay. Shhh. I've got you." He wrapped both arms around Blair, trying to hold him, but he pulled away and made straight for the corner of the shower room and huddled there, naked and staring at his wet hands.

"Get it off! Get it off me!" Blair rubbed his hands against his legs, crying. "I'm sorry! Please!"

Jim was at a loss. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, approaching the corner with care.

"Chief? It's okay. It's just water."

"Can't get it out, why won't it come out?" Blair rubbed his hands together, an anguished look on his face. "I had to. Eye for an eye, that goes back to biblical times. Earlier. Prehistoric times. You hurt mine, I hurt yours. Primal. Really primal. God, get it off me!"

The babbling, panic-filled rambling was at once familiar and frightening, and Jim was sickeningly certain that he was on the same page now. Blair was flashing on killing Granger. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the younger man was processing, trying to work through what he'd done in whatever dark corner of head space he was currently in. Jim crouched down and put his hands on his lover's shoulders, holding on when he tried to flinch away.

"What's left? Nothing. There's nothing. Just his stain on me. Get it off!"

He stroked down Blair's arms, taking hold of his hands. "Let me help you. Let's wash it off. Okay? Let's wash it all off."

"Wash it off."

"That's right. Come on, Chief. Nice and easy."

Jim slowly pulled him to his feet, guiding him back to the shower. Blair stood under the spray, holding his hands up as if in supplication, and Jim kissed each palm before rubbing them in his own hands, trying to help wash away the reminders of Granger that lingered there.

"Now the rest, Blair. We'll wash it all away."

He reached into the plastic bag, which he'd hung off the faucet, and pulled out a bottle of cucumber shampoo. It wasn't Blair's exact brand, but it smelled close. And Jim had smelled them all, just to be sure, nearly zoning several times in the Health & Beauty department of the local Walmart.

"Let's get you lathered up, okay?" He squirted a little shampoo into his palm and worked it into the short curls, massaging Blair's scalp as he did so.

"I miss this. Showering with you. I know it's weird, but I really like washing you. Especially your hair, which I'm starting to think I've become a bit obsessed with."

He tilted Blair's head back, rinsing out the shampoo. He put in some conditioner, not that he needed it now, then pulled out a square block of oatmeal soap. He washed his lover thoroughly, ensuring that the harsh institutional smell would be gone. This was normally a very sensual experience for him, and it still was to a certain degree – the easy way the soap moved over water-slick skin, the myriad Blair scents that hung heavy in the steamy air – but he didn't lose sight of the fact that he was also trying to clean away something he couldn't see; as if by simply washing his lover he could chase all his demons away.

By the time the shower was over, Blair was almost completely boneless and Jim was hard as a rock. It was a natural side-effect of being wet and naked with Blair, but it left him feeling oddly ashamed of himself under the circumstances. Getting the younger man dressed was like trying to put a shirt on a jellyfish.

"I'm glad you're relaxed, Chief, but I could use some help here," Jim grumbled.

Eventually they were both dressed and ready to go back to Blair's room. Only now Jim was able to walk beside Blair, one arm tight around his shoulders. It wasn't much, but he considered it progress. So, apparently, did the staff who applauded as they walked by.

While Blair was in a cooperative mood, Jim settled him on the bed and resumed his position behind him. He took a deep breath. Aaah! That was his Blair! He resumed the massage, though it wasn't long before his lover was sprawled across him like a blanket, head pillowed on his shoulder.

"We need to do this more," Jim said. "You take such good care of me, always have. That's going to change, Chief, I promise you. It's my turn to take care of you."

*o*o*o*

_ Jim sat in the center of the barn, swaying a bit from side to side. Lord knows what was percolating through his system – everything was fuzzy and kind of red around the edges, and his muscles ached something awful – and now Granger wanted to give him more. Only this time he wanted Blair to do it, had untied his hands and everything._

_ "No," he said defiantly. "I won't."_

_ Granger cocked his pistol, pointing it at Jim's face._

_ "Do it, boy, or the detective loses his head."_

_ "No, you crazy fuck!" Blair looked both incredibly angry and so scared he was near tears. Even with his senses wavering in and out, Jim could see that._

_ "Chief…" Jim slurred. _Do what he says_, he wanted to tell him. Jim had become the man's own private chem lab, but he used Blair as a punching bag and he didn't want to see any more bruises or hear his lover crying out in pain. But somehow he couldn't get anything else to come out._

_Blair took the syringe from Granger, who smiled in triumph, then threw it hard against the wall._

_ "I won't hurt him!"_

_ "No. You'll kill him."_

_ There was a gunshot, and Blair screaming his name, and a flash of white hot pain so big it seemed to eat up the whole world._

*o*o*o*

"Blair had a bad night," John informed Jim when he turned up the next morning. "We had to sedate him."

Jim hurried to room 307, and saw that Blair was once again strapped to his bed. There were shallow scratches on his face from his forehead to his cheekbones, as if he'd been trying to scratch out his own eyes. His heart beat was slow and steady, a result of the drugs they'd given him. Pulling the chair next to the bed, Jim sat down and put his hand on Blair's forehead, his thumb making sweeping strokes across his brow.

"What's the matter, Chief? Bad memories?" Jim tried to keep his voice low and soothing. "I know it's hard. I know some of those memories are bad. But you need to think of the good ones too. Like that fishing trip we took, you remember that big fish you caught? Remember how nice it is out in the woods? When you get better, we'll go back there together. Just the two of us."

He kept at it for an hour, talking about the things they were going to do, and gently stroking his lover's arms, his hands, his face. Jim could tell the sedative was wearing off when Blair's heart started speeding up.

"Shhh, it's okay babe. I'm right here. You're okay."

"Why are you here?" Blair asked, his voice thick and raspy. His gaze was fixed on a point just over Jim's shoulder.

Jim sucked in a breath. It was the first time he'd been addressed directly, but the words made tears burn in his eyes.

"I'm here because I love you, babe."

"It's a punishment. I get that. But why _you_?" Blair's voice broke on the last word. "Killed you."

"He didn't, Blair. He didn't kill me. You saved me. I don't know how but you did. The doctors said it was a miracle." Jim couldn't seem to stop babbling. "He didn't get me. You stopped him. You saved me."

"Killed you," Blair said again. His voice had gone flat, devoid of any feeling. It was a dead voice.

"No, babe…"

"I killed you."

Jim's chest tightened. God, is that what he thought? He remembered back to what Granger had said in the barn. _No, you'll kill him_. Is that why he'd done this to himself? Jim got up and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his forehead against Blair's.

"No, Blair. The drugs would've killed me. Granger would've killed me no matter what you did. It wasn't your fault."

"So much blood," Blair said in that same queer voice. "I killed you both, and now you're here to punish me. Make me remember what I can't have."

"No, baby. I'm not dead. No-one killed me." Jim didn't know what to say to convince him. Instead he went with gut instinct and desperate hope and pressed his lips against Blair's, trying to making him understand without words.

Blair remained motionless beneath him for a long moment, then began kissing him back with an almost desperate fervor. He pulled against the restraints and arched up, kissing Jim as if trying to devour him.

"Blair?" Jim pulled back and looked into his lover's eyes, feeling a bit desperate himself.

Fathomless blue eyes looked back at him, the pain in them staggering. But more important was the recognition, the sense that Blair was really _seeing_ him.

"Jim." One word was all he could manage before he dissolved into tears and wracking sobs. Jim hastily released him from the restraints and gathered him up in his arms, rocking him gently.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you. We'll be okay. We'll get through this together." Jim kept up a continuous monologue, ignoring his own tears as he soothed Blair's. At one point he was peripherally aware of John coming into the room, and then leaving again without saying a word.

"Is this real?" Blair asked later, his tears spent for the moment. He and Jim lay on the bed, curled around each other. Their hands were clasped, and the claddagh ring back on the finger it was meant for.

"It's real. I'm real." Jim kissed his forehead. "As soon as we can, we'll get you out of here and go home."

"Will you stay here? With me?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away, Chief."

*o*o*o*

_The panther had dug a hole under the stone, and now he waited, licking his tender paws. He could only offer a way out – the wolf had to want to act on it._

_ The panther's patience was finally rewarded when the wolf squeezed himself out from under the stone wall, looking thin and sickly. He lay down beside the panther, who abandoned his own pain to tend his friend. The wolf rested his muzzle on his paws and gave himself over to the gentle ministrations._

*o*o*o*

Blair had made an incredible recovery, but he was still very emotionally fragile by the time that he was able to come home to the loft. That first night Jim was just happy to have the younger man in his arms and in his bed again, and was prepared to wait as long as needed before resuming their physical relationship; Lord knew he didn't want to do any more damage. His lover had other ideas, had initiated things and wanted them rough, fast, hard. It had been more of a rutting than anything else, and though it had left Jim confused and unsettled, he had held Blair afterwards as he cried.

Two days later they tried again, only this time Jim took the lead and he went slow, slower than they'd ever gone before. He wanted to show Blair how much he loved him, and so he took the time to worship every square inch of his lover's body, peeling away each layer of clothing with steady deliberation and lavishing the skin below with wet kisses. Blair writhed beneath him, his skin flushed with heat and the air heavily scented with his desire.

His lips traced the scar on Blair's arm, paying it special consideration even though his lover tensed up beneath him as he did so. He'd been wearing long-sleeved shirts, even when he was clearly too warm, and Jim wanted him to know that he didn't have to be ashamed of it. He considered it a battle scar, and there was no reason to hide it. Eventually, Blair relaxed under his touch and Jim hoped it was a sign that his thinking would start to change for the better.

He reacquainted himself with his lover, reintroducing himself to the sensitive spot just behind Blair's ears and the little breathless moans that were the result of a tongue flicked rapidly over hardened nipples. They didn't need to speak at all, letting their bodies do the talking for them. Each shiver a word of its own, Blair's arched back an eloquent plea for more.

Though he tried to go slow, tried to make it last, Jim was only so strong; in the end he gave in to the passion and the emotion. This time he was the one who cried, though not for the same reasons; he'd thought he'd lost everything, and he'd never been more thankful to be wrong.

"Thank you…God…thank you…" he moaned as he climaxed. And Blair kissed away his tears and held him tight.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Jim cleaned them both up and spooned up behind his lover in the bed, feeling for the first time in nearly a month that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

"Why do you want me?" Blair asked quietly, just as Jim was drifting off to sleep.

"Is that a trick question?" Jim asked back, nipping at his shoulder.

"No."

Jim leaned up on his elbow and turned his lover to face him. He touched his face, gently tracing the contours.

"I love you."

"But…what I did…"

Jim silenced him with a kiss. "I've had to kill a lot of people, babe. Do you still love me?"

"That's different," Blair protested.

"No, it's not. You did what you had to do. I don't judge you for that. I'm sorry it happened, sorry you had to be put in that position, but it doesn't make me love you any less."

"You never lose control like that," Blair whispered.

"Really? You know, one shot would've been enough to disarm Lash. He could've survived, gone to trial, been punished the way he deserved." Jim could still remember his absolute fury that night, as well as his fear that he'd be too late to save his friend. "He hurt you, and I wanted to hurt him back. And I've never been sorry about it."

Blair looked up at him, his face clouded. "I didn't…I never knew that."

"Does it matter? Does it change how you feel?"

"No."

"Then stop asking me stupid questions," Jim said affectionately. "Nothing will ever change how much I love you, Blair. And there's no need to view that as a challenge, either, Chief."

"Okay, big guy," his lover responded, his voice thick with emotion. "Okay."

It was the last time he ever questioned Jim's feelings.

*o*o*o*

One month later, Blair was steadily improving under Jim's watchful Sentinel eyes. His twice a week therapy sessions had now been changed to just once a week, and he and Jim had joint sessions every two weeks. Jim said he was going for Blair, but they were really helping him as well and he was considering maybe a few solo visits for himself.

He'd taken an extended leave from the PD, partly because he was too afraid to let Blair out of his sight but mostly because he was feeling ambivalent about the job lately. He was tired of his work coming home with him. It was something he wrestled with on his own, not wanting to burden Blair with it. When he was ready, when he'd finally made his decision, it would be something to talk about in counseling.

Naomi called a couple times a week, checking in. She'd wanted to come straight away from the ashram, but Blair had told her not to. He wanted more time to get himself together before he faced his mother in the flesh. Jim didn't blame him; Naomi could be difficult to deal with during the best of times, and though she never said it directly it was clear that she held Jim accountable for the latest disaster to befall her only son.

There were still bad days, and nights where Blair would wake up screaming Jim's name. Sometimes, in the middle of doing something mundane like cooking or watching TV, Blair would break down in tears; Jim had finally gotten him to stop apologizing every time that happened. Progress. As for the loft itself, Jim had boosted security until it was practically a panic room; it made both of them feel safer.

As much as it could, life got back to normal for them. They started poker night up again, watched Jags games, and loved each other at every opportunity. And if Jim was sometimes prone to anxiety attacks and Blair had dark, brooding days, they tried not to let it cast a shadow on everything that was good.

"I remember it," Blair said one night, lying in Jim's embrace.

"Remember what, babe?"

"After I killed Granger." He said it matter-of-factly, but it made Jim cringe inside. The therapist may think it was an important step for Blair to face what he'd done head-on, but in Jim's mind there was nothing matter-of-fact about that loss of innocence.

"What do you remember?" Jim asked softly. This had been the last blank spot in Blair's memory, and Jim wanted to know the whole story, no matter how painful. It couldn't be any worse than Blair's stomach-churning recounting of Granger's brutal end.

"I crawled back to you. I didn't know if you were dead or alive…I wasn't too together, then…but I assumed the worst." Blair turned, burrowing closer against Jim's chest. "I remembered the vision from the fountain, how you brought me back. I tried to do the same thing."

Jim held him close, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry we never talked about that."

"Me too, man. I could've used the info, you know?"

"So what did you do?"

"I put my hands over the bullet wound and begged Incacha to help me. I told him…he could take my life for yours."

"Oh, Chief." Jim swallowed his tears, and they burned all the way down his throat. "Don't you know I don't have a life without you?"

"Me either, big guy."

They kissed then, long and sweet, before Blair snuggled back against him.

"I didn't think it worked. I didn't see any visions or flashes of light. That's about when I packed it in and gave up."

"Well, something happened. Most guys don't get shot in the head and walk away with only a manly scar to show for it."

"Very manly," Blair agreed, reaching up to kiss it.

"I appreciate you saving my life, Blair. But don't ever trade yours away for me, okay?"

"As long as you promise to stop getting shot."

"I promise," Jim said with all sincerity. He made his decision then, but now was not the time to discuss it. There were other ways he could protect the tribe, choices that had less of a chance of involving physical violence. He wanted to make a real life with Blair; they'd already lost too much time.

"I love you, Jim."

"I love you, too, babe."

"Thanks," Blair murmured softly.

"For loving you? My pleasure."

He laughed. "For that. And for being the light in my dark corners."

Jim held him tightly, not trusting himself to speak. They shared one last kiss before eventually drifting off to sleep, and this night there were no nightmares…for either one of them.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong>__ Attack of the plot bunnies! This one got me in my bed New Year's Eve, and so I spent all of New Year's Day writing it down. I love a good nuthouse story, and it was Blair's turn since Jim already had the crazy treatment in _Lost_. Once again I put our boys through the wringer, but you know they'll always come out on top as long as they're together. _

_My heartfelt thanks and gratitude a-go-go to smiles2go, who found all the weak spots and helped me fortify them. The story was good before you got hold of it, but now it's awesome and I can't thank you enough for being one of my lights in the darkness!_


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